Blowing Up While Fading Out
As a kid,
awestruck,
one of us flicked it back into its habitat
while it slowly descended,
Later that day I set off M80s and more bottle rockets with a lit Newport
while secretly hoping I'd blow my fingers off for the fish.
But I only got grounded.
we blew up a fish.
We shoved a bottle rocket into its respiring mouth and lit it.
When it didn't die,awestruck,
one of us flicked it back into its habitat
while it slowly descended,
its wiggles fading -
we watched it naturally bury itself.
Later that day I set off M80s and more bottle rockets with a lit Newport
while secretly hoping I'd blow my fingers off for the fish.
But I only got grounded.
And told there must be a black cloud hanging over me.
It was the last night of summer.
The breeze danced through the screen and past the shade in my room,
calming the guilt in my heart
while kids reveled, laughed, and “made time” with the neighborhood girls on that final night of freedom.
It was the last night of summer.
The breeze danced through the screen and past the shade in my room,
calming the guilt in my heart
while kids reveled, laughed, and “made time” with the neighborhood girls on that final night of freedom.
No one would talk to those girls again until next year.
Or winter break.
They were summer specific.
Mostly.
I can still smell the cool night air and hear the conversations that lived vibrantly without me while the moon rose and my eyes flickered until it faded away.- to be published by Untoward
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Author's Note
I always want to blow up in productive/exciting way but always end up fading out before it happens.
Other stories by Anthony Van Hart
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This one works its ass off, kind of like a Roman Candle.
Thanks for reading Misti! Appreciate the comment!
"No one would talk to those girls again until next year.
Or winter break.
They were summer specific."
Very fine.
*
Thanks, Bill. I've reworked this one a few times and those are some of the new lines. Very glad you like it.
fave!
yeah, excellent.
done that, with those girls, and been there with those m80's.
I rememember this one girl named Pat, from Maywood, who sat at the top of her stair, on those warm summer nights in Illinois. Everyone was wanting to kiss those moistened pink lipstick lips.
Thanks, Jerry! It's fascinating how many people I've talked to that have similar stories!
This is really great stuff, Anthony! I love it. I hope you are planning to return to the Thursday evening roundtable in May- I'd love to have you back in the group again.
Fave.
I've been checking out your work and enjoying the tingle of living a whole different world through your words. Thank you.